For tarotgal
a Judging Amy story
by symphonyflute
"No Carole, it's fine." Vincent Gray rubbed his temples tiredly and reached for his can of coke. "Yes I'm sure. You just have fun at your conference. I'll see you next week." The door clicked and he glanced up to see Donna come in with Ariadne in a carrier on her back. "I love you too. Bye."
"Carole?" Donna asked, putting her daughter in the high chair and kneeling in front of the refridgerator.
Vincent nodded. "She's at some work thing in Atlanta until next Tuesday."
"So I guess you'll have some free time this week, since she won't be here?" Donna was rummaging through the fridge.
"I suppose so." Vincent reached over Donna's shoulder and pulled out the jar of mashed carrots. "This what you were looking for?"
Donna looked a little embarrassed. "Yeah, thanks." She started spooning it into Ariadne's mouth. "Because I was just thinking..."
Oh no," he groaned inwardly.
"Maybe you could watch Ari so I could go spend some one on one time with Oscar."
"Yeah, I guess so," Vincent relented.
"Great. How about tomorrow?"
"That soon?" Donna looked at him expectantly. "Fine, whatever."
"Thanks Vincent, you're the best."
Looking back on it the next day, Vincent wished he hadn't given in so easily. He wondered why Donna was able to convince him to do things so easily. That question wasn't going to be answered any time soon, as his only companion was a baby girl. As he sat there pondering, watching baseball and drinking a beer, overall not a bad way to spend an evening, the slumbering Ariadne woke up and began crying. He tried to comfort her, He gave her a bottlw which she threw on the ground. He gave her a teddy bear which met a fate similiar to the bottle. He checked to see if she needed her diaper changed, which she didn't. And then he stood there holding a screaming infant and wondering what to do.
"Shh." He rocked her up and down in his arms gently, whispering in a soothing voice. "Come on honey, it's time to stop crying now." Apparently, Ari didn't agree. She felt it was necessary to continue crying for 45 minutes, until her mother got home.
"Thank you for baby-sitting," Donna said as soon as she opened the door. "I had a great time with Oscar. He's appealing again, did I tell you that?"
How did she not notice a hysterical baby? "Um, Donna? Could you possibly make your kid shut up?" It was a rude way to put it, but after listening to a wailing child for almost an hour, his head was pounding and all he wanted was quiet. And maybe an Asprin.
Donna glared at him as she took Ari into her arms. "That was a rude thing to say." As soon as she was in her mother's arms, Ari quieted and drifted back off to sleep.
Vincent looked at the scene wth shock "You've got to be kidding me," he said. "I had to listen to her screeching like a banshee for an hour and she conks out immediately when you get her."
Donna gave him a weird look. "Sorry Vincent. Maybe she just wanted her mother."
"Then maybe her mother should have been here instead of shacking up with her convict husband," Vincent replied acidly.
Donna just gaped at him, and he felt bad. "Donna, I'm sorry. That was really mean of me to say,"
"Yeah it was."
"I've just got this killer headache all of the sudden, and it's making me kind of funky. I think I'm just going to go sleep it off."
"Yeah, you do that. Thanks for watching Ari." Donna didn't sound happy with him, but she wasn't mad anymore. They had a lot of trouble staying mad at each other.
Vincent didn't bother to clean up anything from that night or brush his teeth, just stripped down to his boxers and collapsed on the bed, sound asleep.
Donna clicked her tongue in distaste. After putting Ari in her crip to sleep, she walked around the apartment picking up his can of beer and shoes and straightening up the living room. Strange, Vincent wasn't known for leaving messes. "What's gotten into him?" she wonder out loud.
The next morning, Vincent woke up feeling like he was in Antarctica. He pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders, and debated getting up to turn up the heat. But seeing as the headache he'd developed the night before had officially settled in for the long run right behind his eyes and his legs felt strangely weak, way to weak to carry him, he decided against it.
But after ten or so minutes of shivering, something had to be done. "Donna?" he yelled, coughing from the effort.
Donna appeared in his doorway a minute later, with baby food on her face and three curlers in her hair. "What do you want?"
He coughed roughly into his pillow. "Can you turn the heat up?" he asked in a pathetically nasal voice, which made him blush.
Donna eyed him suspiciouslly. "What's wrong with you?"
"I'm freezing."
"Bigger picture," she clarified.
"I think I''m getting a cold or something," he admitted. And if Donna didn't believe him, which she did anyway, his words were given credence momentarilly when his breath suddenly hitched and he sneezed twice before he could make any move to cover his face. "Ugh, excuse me."
Donna wasn't pleased. "Great, just great. What am I supposed to do now?"
"Turn up the heat?" Vincent suggested.
"That isn't what I meant. I have a baby."
"And I bet she's cold," he tried.
"She certainally will be if she gets your cold," Donna countered. "I'll have to find her somewhere to stay until you get better." She backed out of his doorway. Vincent sighed, apparently he was just going to stay cold.
Then Donna was back, and Vincent was hopeful. "I don't suppose you;kk stay somewhere until you get better, will you?" she asked.
"No."
"Right, just checking." She left again. And Vincent decided it wasn't worth it to try and get her to make it warmer. Today was not going to be a good day.
Amy Gray sat tiredly at her bench and struggled to make a verdict on her third tough case of the day. It was also her third case of the day period. Today was not a good day. Statutory rape at seven in the morning. Assaulting a mentally handicapped boy at ten. Slander that had resulted in the suicide of a teenage girl at three. Two girls had started a website detailing the private (and fictionalized) sexual secrets of their fellow students, and one girl had killed herself. Amy hated them for it, and for not understanding the gravity of the situation, but she couldn't find them guilty of manslaughter.
In the end, she put a transcript of the trial on their permenant records, effectively ruining their chances of ever getting into journalism school. They cried. She found that she didn't care.
"I don't get it," she complained in her chambers later on in the day. "What is with kids today? We were never this cruel."
"I don't know," Bruce van Exel, her CSO, answered. "Kids were pretty cruel when we were young too."
There was a knock on the door, and Donna stuck her head in. "Excuse me, Judge Gray, I don't mean to bother you but do you have a minute?"
"What do you want Donna?"
"Do you have a portable crib?"
"A portable crib?" Amy repeated. Bruce snorted in laughter, and she elbowed him.
"Yeah, like left over from when Lauren was a baby? Vincent's sick and I don't want Ari to catch it, so we're going to a hotel."
"Vincent's sick? What's wrong with him?"
"Well it's just a cold but still, what kind of mother would I be if I let my daughter be subjected to germs?"
"Normal?" Bruce suggested quietly.Donna didn't hear him.
Amy thought quickly. "What time do you need to get Ariadne from day care?"
"Six."
"I'll have Lauren's old portable crib here by 6:30."
"Thank you Judge Gray," Donna said gratefully.
"But only if you give me a key to your apartment." Bruce and Donna both shot her curious looks, prompting her to be defensive. "Well I'm not leaving my sick brother all alone."
"Sure," Donna promised. "I'll bring you the extra key later today."
"Thanks." Feeling their conversation was over, Amy sat there expectantly. When Donna realized this, she left the room and Amy and Bruce picked up their conversation.
"Ha-Chh! EtChh! Ugh..." Vincent forced a thick blue sweatshirt over his head and sighed as it did nothing to quell his shivers. Apparently he did have to get up and adjust the thermostat.
Getting up, he kept his blanket draped over his shoulders and made his way slowly to the living room, his tired muscles protested every step, and every piece of furniture in his path caused a new bruise on his legs. After what felt like forever, he finally reached the thermostat, which he had never before tried to use, only to realize it was about three feet above his head.
Groaning, he pulled over a chair from the kitchenette and mounted it shakily. He turned the knob slowly, increasing the temperature a few degrees, pausing, then increasing it a few more. As he tried to get down, he lost his balance and fell off the chair.
Shaking it off, he stood up and tried to walk, finding that his ankle throbbed and couldn't support his weight. He limped over to the couch and collapsed on it, pulling his blanket over himself. Today was not a good day.
Just as he was drifting off to sleep, there was a knock on the door. He was about to go answer it, when the door opened on it's own. Amy stuck her head in. "Are you awake?" she whispered.
He considered lying, but decided it was better to just accept Amy being there. "I'm up," he said. She came in and shut the door, revealing that she was carrying a large paper bag. "What are you doing here?"
She set the bags on the table and came over to feel his forehead. "Donna told me you were sick, and I didn't want you to be all alone. I was worried you'd act like you were younger and got sick. You know, you'd just lie there and not eat anything and it'd be up to everyone else to make you get better because you were so bad at taking care of yourself."
"I'm not bad at taking care of myself," Vincent defended. His nose tickled, but he didn't want to sneeze in front of Amy. He just twitched it around trying to dislodge the tickle.
She noticed. "Just sneeze," she told him.
"Het-Chh! Hatchoo!"
Amy rubbed his arm comfortingly. "You still sneeze in twos every time you're sick?" It wasn't so much a question as an observation, and it wasn't her only observation. "And I see you're lying on the couch when you should be asleep in bed after a hearty bowl of soup."
"I was asleep in bed, but I got really cold," He pointed up to the thermostat. "I made it warmer."
"And you didn't get back in bed because..."
"Because I fell and hurt my ankle." Amy looked exasperated. "Don't look at me like that. I can take care of myself. Hetchoo! HaKtschh!"
Amy struggled not to laugh. "Do you want to go back to bed?"
"No," he whined. His head hurt, his ankle killed, his body ached, and he felt like hell. He wasn't going to be some model patient and do what he was told.
"Do you want some soup?"
"Yes," he admited begrudgenly.
She patted his head. "I'll go make some."
She grabbed the bags and carried them into the kitchen, where she poured a bowl of Campbell's chicken noodle soup into a pot to cook. As it simmered, she realized she had to tell her mom that she wouldn't be home for dinner. She explained that Vincent was sick and she'd be spending the rest of the evening at his place. Once she was off the phone and the soup was done, she poured some in a bowl and carried it carefully into the living room.
Vincent was blowing his nose. Amy rolled her eyes as he finished only to sneeze again and put the soup down on the table. "How long ago did you take cold medicine?" she asked.
He was in the process of sitting up on the couch, but paused and looked at her. "Cold medicine?"
"Well you said you could take care of yourself fine, so I assume you took medicine. And Tylenol for your foot."
He thought about it for a minute. "Um, long enough ago that I can take another dose?"
"Or a first dose?"
He looked up at her pitifully. "I don't feel good."
Amy sighed, finding she couldn't lecture him when he was that pathetic. His nose was red,his face was pale, and his hair was all messed up. "I'll go get some. Where's your bathroom?"
"FIrst door on the right." Amy was about to go when he stopped her. "We don't have any medicine. Donna's afraid to have anything stronger than toothpaste in the house incase Ari ever gets in the medicine cabinet."
"But isn't the medicine cabinet about five feet above her?"
"Never question Donna. I've learned that." He coughed and rubbed his throat.
"You look miserable," Amy noted.
"Yeah, today's a crappy day. How about you?" He took a few spoonfuls of soup.
"Terrible. Bet it beats yours."
Before they could compare, there was a knock on the door. "Were you expecting anyone?" Amy asked. Vincent shook his head. Amy opened it, and stood there silently as she stared at the latest visitor.
Maxime, carrying a large metal pot, pushed past her. "You know dear, it's actually considered rude to leave guests in the doorway."
"Ruder than it is to come uninvited?"
Maxime gave Amy her special 'I'm more clever than you' grin. "Oh, Vincent invited you?"
"Touchee."
Maxime's grin widened. "I'll just go heat this up," she announced, gesturing to the pot in her hands.
"But I already made hum soup mom."
"Canned soup no doubt. When you're sick, you need homemade soup."
Amy sat down on the couch with Vincent. "I'll bet this makes you day much better," she said sarcastically.
"I can't believe you told mom," he grumbled.
"Oh Vincent," Maxime called from the kitchenette. "I see a shopping bag here. Did you go to the store?"
"It's from me," Amy answered for him. "I brought soup, a box of kleenex and some Sports Illustrated."
"You did?" Vincent asked.
"Well I didn't know how long you'd be sick," Amy said.
He smiled at her. "Thanks." She smiled back.
Then their special moment was ruined when he suddenly grabbed some tissues out of the nearly empty box on the couch next to him. "Hetchoo! HaEtchhh!"
"Bless you. Hey! Maybe since mom's here I canrun out and get you some medicine."
"No need, I brought some." Maxime, seemingly coming out of nowhere, handed Vincent a box of Tylenol, which he accepted gratefully.
"How do you do that?" Amy asked, before thinking better of it. "Never mind."
"Hatchoo! HeEtschh!"
Maxime pressed her hand to Vincent's forehead, "How are you feeling?" she asked. "Pretty cruddy?"
"Mmm," he agreed.
"What about you Amy?" she asked. "How are you?"
"Fine," she replied. "How are you?"
"I'm great. I've had the most wonderful day."
Amy and Vincent made eye contact and broke out laughing.
Disclaimer: Always the most depressing part of writing. I don't own Judging Amy. I do, however, own Dan Futterman (Vincent). I keep him in my closet.